Thy sails, on the fathomless ocean,
Are swell'd by the boisterous gale;
How rests thy tir'd head
On the rude rocking bed?
While here not a leaf is in motion,
And melody reigns in the dale.

"The Banks Of Wye - Book II" by Robert Bloomfield

The coming morn, with lustre gay,
Breath'd sweetly on his dwelling;
The twilight veil of parting day
Stole softly o'er his quiet shed,
Hiding the mountain's misty head,
Where the night-breeze was swelling.

"The Deserted Cottage" by Mary Darby Robinson

In news:

After the usual buzz, Portland's dining swells can finally thrill seek at the Eventide Oyster Co.--the new venture headed by the enterprising owners of the award-winning Hugo's.